He Called Me Friend
by Fluxie Incapacitor
Summary: My feet felt as if they were made of lead as I lifted them to walk around the island of Myst again. The utter silence pushed the quiet island further into a landslide of isolation. I was far past my fascination with the gadgets and brain-teasing puzzles, past the interest for the five ages available to me. It was a desolate, lonesome wasteland with no signs of humanity.


My feet felt as if they were made of lead as I lifted them to walk around the island of Myst again. The utter silence pushed the quiet island further into a landslide of isolation. I was far past my fascination with the gadgets and brain-teasing puzzles, past the interest for the five ages available to me. When that interest was there, the silence didn't seem so stifling. The silence buzzed with logical music formed whole from my mind, but now... Now it was deafening. No echoes of happier times, of a family, whole and smiling, I had been told was once here. No signs of the people who, assuredly, had inhabited the ages. It was a desolate, lonesome wasteland with no signs of humanity other than the elaborate structures and machines.

I continued walking simply because it was something to do. I looked to the soft, grey waves crashing against the dock and ship, it's lack of sound giving me a constant feeling of unease. Everything had been completed, so it seemed, so I paced in the stillness of Myst island. I walked down the docks as if in a dream, unfocused, my mind elsewhere. I looked to the marker switch at the end of sturdy pier, the heavy door still open. There. It was right there even when I arrived, even if I hadn't known at the time.

The constellation room's marble seemed to glow at me in the moonlight as I walked by, it's beauty reminding me of Channelwood's own unique beauty. I found myself wandering mindlessly into the marble archway of the library again and looking at the blackened medium wood of the podiums on either side, spots that I had known too well, that had held the linking books of the only two faces I had seen for days on this island. Sirrus and Achenar.

The more ages I searched and the more pages I brought to their linking books, the more I learned about them and the more I learned, the less I trusted. Both of the brothers seemed... Wrong. Twisted and dark. Nothing could convince my heart otherwise. Achenar showed signs of an addled brain, and his various rooms on the ages chilled me to the quick. Sirrus oozed with cunning and charm, dripping with grins and mental sharpness, I could not say that my trust rested comfortably with either brother. Both felt as the sight of crashing waves with no sound. They felt misplaced, false. I struggled with who to free because... No one seemed right. Thankfully, my curiosity gained the upper hand. I had learned from the numerous links I had endured, that simply opening a book would cause no harm. Nothing would occur from simply opening the green book that both brothers desperately warned not to touch. It was the one thing that seemed consistent with both brother's stories. By no means was I to touch the book that resided with the pages. But I could not leave it, my stomach churned at the thought of replacing either page in a brother's book. I had to know, had to see if there was some other way out.

I opened the book and was met by Atrus, who explained the misdeeds and transgressions his sons had performed. I could read the honesty, sorrow and desperation in his eyes...

I found myself gently brushing my fingertips against the charred indentation of Achenar's blue book on the wall. Atrus. Atrus called me friend within moments of knowing me. He said that we were trapped in these two worlds, that there was only his Myst linking book and the other book he was constantly feverishly writing in, it seemed. My mind roamed down the path of thought that began and ended with this curious man. How long had he been there? He seemed a perfect fixture in the massive, echoing room that seemed to some how feel claustrophobic and enclosed. It seemed plausible that he had been there for an extended amount of time. How long had he been forced to write in that book? As he spoke, my eyes couldn't help but glance at the book he had written in. The page had been filled with a peculiar sort of writing and the book was expansive, it seemed to be filled. How long had his mind been lingering on the thought that his own sons could do something this devious?

I pulled my hand away from the book's former, and final, resting place. That was a question I didn't want to try to answer. I carefully studied the dark soot on my fingers. Another question tugged at my mind. Why did this matter to me so? I had never before met this man, and yet... Something... Something called out to me and told me I had to help him.

He'd called me friend. Atrus. Atrus called me friend. He'd known me for moments, but called me friend. Mine was the first face he had seen since he had been trapped in that godforsaken room for who knows how long. He called me friend.

I brushed my soot-covered fingers together. When I returned, hours ago, to Myst from his room, this was all that was left of his two sons. His children. Two burnt indentations in the wall. This man with kind and honest eyes tinged with sadness, who called a complete stranger to him friend, had two sons who killed, murdered, pillaged, tortured and destroyed many, many ages and this man with the kind eyes had to obliterate his own sons. Sons that he obviously trusted and loved unconditionally. They had betrayed him.

He called me _friend._

I pulled the green linking book to D'ni out quickly and touched the linking panel and didn't even notice my stomach lurching at swirling link.

I saw what I expected to see, Atrus sitting, writing furiously, in the dictionary-sized book, ignorant to the world around him. I saw what I suspected I would see also, a slight sorrowful glisten in the corner of his eye.

"Atrus...?" I asked tentatively.

"Have... Continue writing. I have to... Keep stable." He said, his words sputtering out staccato as he continued to write. I couldn't tell if he was speaking to me or telling himself.

"Atrus..." I repeated, crossing the room to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. As my hand made contact with his shoulder, it was as if he was electrified. He winced and the pen dropped out of a shaking hand as his head first sunk, then raised to look into my eyes.

"My own sons. I've... I've had to destroy them. My own two little boys..." He said, his voice more controlled than the waves of emotions permeating the air around him, the look in his eyes pushing my hand away from his shoulder, "They decimated so many ages... So many people... I never noticed. I was focused on new ages, new experiments... I was blind. I saw nothing of what horrors they were performing on delicate ecosystems, turning beautiful ages into places of violence and greed and corruption. And I've had to destroy them because of my own blindness... My own inability to see..." He lifted his pen again, "I am to blame for their betrayal," he said, a solemn whisper, his hand shaking more violently than before, few soft glistens falling down his cheeks, "... I have to make something right...", the pen began scratching clumsily on the page, much focus and concentration put into the movement, "... Have to save Catherine... Have to save the people of Riven..."

This man who called me friend was broken. He was being crushed by guilt that was weighing heavily upon him. He had been betrayed and his heart shattered. He blamed himself for his sons transgressions. I studied his face closely. Dark shadows were prominent around his eyes, along with rings of crimson, the kindness in his eyes completely overtaken by desperation. I kneeled in front of the small desk, watching frantic sleep-deprived tears fall. "They're gone." I said quietly, "they're gone and can no longer cause pain or suffering. And I know they were your sons, but..." What could I say? I sighed. I placed one hand over his exasperated right hand and gently cupped his cheek with the other. He looked at me with childlike innocence and surprise, his eyes shining, "All things shall be well," I said, " I will make you a promise." His unnaturally light eyes just continued to stare at me, almost through me, in quiet awe, "I swear to you that I will help you in any way I can. I will help you save Catherine. I will help you save the people of Riven. I will strive to complete these goals you have set for yourself as if they were my very own, Atrus." I said with every ounce of strength I could muster. His eyes lost some of their desperation and wonder and regained some of their kindness and wizendom, "But... Why?" He asked quietly and solemnly.

"Because you called me friend."


End file.
